Random JasperEdward oneshots
by Pastiche Pen
Summary: New Entry #4: The Kinsey Scale: Edward is madly in love with his roommate-who is not gay. ...or is he? Edward decides he detests pop psychology. A tale of botched seduction, cocktail confetti, subway songs, and dour uncles. AH. Funny porn, etc.
1. The Bees and the Bees

**A/n**: um, in case you haven't read her bio - Stephenie Meyer wouldn't have written this. I thank her, however, for giving me these characters to manipulate to my unawesome delight.

This has been up on my LJ for a while, but I decided to post on FF. I wrote this for Angstgoddess003 as this weird challenge thing we have going. Um, it didn't meet the req's of our little challenge too much, but she liked it, so whatever.

If you like slash, I recommend you check out the TwiSlash blog at Twislash(dot)blogspot(dot)com.

Also, I'll post it over here after some time has passed, but I wrote ANOTHER Jasper/Edward one-shot for the Friday Free for All on Twilighted(dot)net, organized by my fellow peddler in porn, the highlarious ninapolitan. Go read.

* * *

**The Bees and the Bees**

o()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()o

A bee was buzzing overhead.

A girl in the front of the classroom shrieked as it swooped over her head. Mike Newton tried to swat at it. He had his usual degree of dexterity. He missed. The bee zoomed over the top of the class in a wide figure-eight, buzzing and zipping and diving with every ounce of buzzy bumblebee frenzy.

When it came his way, Edward trapped it against the window with his palm.

"You'll sting yourself!" Reese Metzger warned in a damsel-in-distress soprano.

He ignored her. He focused on the gentle vibrations underneath his fingers, the faint tickle of the small bug crawling across his palm. He unlatched the window then, and held out his open palm. After seeming to test the air for a moment, the bee took flight, zooming out into the murk of Forks.

No one said anything. The teacher started lecturing again, and class resumed.

When class was over, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He didn't have to look up to know who it was. His body knew instinctively.

"Thank you," Jasper said.

Edward turned slowly. "Why are you thanking me?" he murmured in a low tone. He wanted to make this moment last, the moment in which he had a reason to be talking to Jasper Whitlock.

"Because," Jasper said, jerking his eyes away from Edward at the same time that he pulled his hand off Edward's shoulder. Jasper scratched at the back of his neck in an awkward manner, like he was trying to make the gesture natural even though they both knew that it couldn't be.

Edward opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out.

Instead Jasper spun on his heel and made for the door.

Edward looked down at his hand, and for the first time, he felt the prick of pain. It would appear that he'd been stung, after all.

o()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()o

Edward had lived in Forks all his life. The small town was a simple place. Not all that much happened, really—and if it did, everyone and their brother, uncle, cousin, and neighbor had the details down to a level that would probably constitute identity theft in any other municipality. When he was younger, he loved it—the sense of community, how his family fit in, how he fit in, but now—Edward hated it.

It began the day Jasper Whitlock and his sister Rosalie came to Forks High School. Both blond haired and blue-eyed, they had both hunkered down at Edward's lunch table on the first day. At first, Edward had barely noticed. He was lost in a new book that his dad's friend had given him, _1776_ by David McCullough. Thus, focusing on the new kids was not a priority, and after all, why should he fawn over every random new kid that passed through the small town?

He still noticed them, however. It was impossible not to. Rosalie had taken an immediate interest in Emmett—his linebacker older brother. No surprise there.

And then, Jasper. Edward had expected Jasper to take a fancy to the long line of cleavage that Jessica had so obviously displayed for him—or maybe even Lauren and her ass skirts and tiny waist—but that hadn't been the case. Jasper had looked bored. He had glanced about at the most typical of high school settings and looked like he would rather be anywhere else, but then Jasper had noticed Edward's book—he reached across the table and prodded it with his plastic cafeteria knife.

"Hey there—is that David McCullough?" he'd asked with a slight touch of an accent.

Edward put down his book, adjusting his reading glasses so he could look at the boy across the table.

He wondered later what it was that had done it. Jasper was good-looking, yes. That was certain, but there were other boys that had been good-looking, before, and yet Edward had never had such a reaction before. For when his eyes met Jasper's, some poltergeist seemed to seize hold of his body. He went rigid and uncontrolled. He gaped at Jasper in silence.

Jasper broke the moment by reaching across the table and seizing the book.

"It is," he confirmed, peering down at the cover for only a moment. "_1776._ I've been meaning to read this one." He patted the cover twice and then reached across the table, holding the book out for Edward. "I'm Jasper Whitlock, by the way." He smiled lazily as he took in Edward's befuddled expression. Oddly enough, he didn't seem remotely surprised by it.

"I'm Edward," he replied in a soft voice. "If you'd like to borrow it…?" He trailed off, before losing his train of thought and fixing his gaze over Jasper's shoulder.

"Sure—whenever you're finished with it." Jasper nodded, but then his face lost his expression as he turned to see his sister with her eyes boring into his. Rosalie's mouth was tight as she gave her brother a disapproving look. "What?" Jasper took a bit off a carrot and chomped down. When she didn't say anything, Jasper shrugged her shoulders and turned away from her.

Rosalie turned to Edward then. "So, _Edward_—Emmett says you like cars."

Edward assessed her before answering. She was beautiful—cheek bones cut at right angles, luminescent skin, honey-colored hair, and bright blue eyes—dark blue in the outer ring with a sunny yellow around the iris. In fact, she was easily the most beautiful girl ever to come to this high school. At her side, Emmett was lost in raptures, which made Edward blink—not because Emmett wasn't a walking testosterone sack (because_he was_)—but because it dawned on Edward that he hadn't even noticed Rosalie before. He hadn't noticed her beauty, and now that he had noticed, he realized he _didn't care_. He didn't like her manner: the tight pout of her lips, her hard-edged voice, or the boutique-y scent of her perfume. He did like cars, though—the faster the better, as far as he was concerned, and realizing the topic was the path toward politeness, he finally settled for giving Rosalie a nod.

"You and Emmett should come check out my M3 after school," she offered. She looked down at her plate while she said it, carefully eyeing the various leaves of salad before delicately stabbing a bite-sized piece.

At her side, Emmett put both thumbs up in the air and winked at Edward. Edward smiled back at him, though he could not return his enthusiasm.

The rest of the lunch continued with few words from Edward, but this was because he sat with his nose deep in his book—though he wasn't actually reading, and when the lunch bell rang, he made a bee line for the door. He didn't look up to see where his table companions were headed. He didn't wave goodbye to Emmett like he normally did. He didn't glance at Rosalie. And most importantly, he looked nowhere remotely near the direction of Jasper Whitlock.

o()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()o

Edward kissed Lauren Mallory during a campout party hosted by Mike Newton.

The camp fire had been roaring in the center of the clearing, and the night had been one of s'mores, flannel, and Rummy by the firelight. Edward was an eager participant when Newton rolled out the keg.

It was the first time he really got drunk.

And since he was drunk, all he could do was stare at Jasper. Jasper, who never seemed to say much but was always surrounded by admirers. Jasper, who looked golden in the shadow and drizzle of the camp fire flames. Jasper, whose eyes cast spells upon him with every glance. Jasper, about whom Edward thought as he touched himself in silent of the night.

Edward _hated_it. He wanted to make it stop.

He realized later that things could have been very different that night. If Jasper had sat near him, who knows what Edward would have done? But it wasn't Jasper that touched him.

When Lauren had snuggled up against him, he had drawn her closer. He had found the crook of her neck and breathed in there. She smelled like smoke and forest. She smelled like _now_. She had gasped slightly when he brushed his lips against the soft spot on her ear. They had sat like that for a minute, side by side, and then she had stood. The pace of her breathing was obvious as her frozen breaths seem to form then fade into the night air.

Lauren had grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the dark profile of trees. He had followed with drunken gusto. When they were several yards back along the trail, he had pulled her toward him. He found her mouth and kissed it. A simple kiss. Just lips to lips—no smack, no give and take. Just a touch.

It was Lauren who pushed things. She had forked her hands through his hair and pulled him against her, half-growling as she pushed him back, her lips seeking his bottom lip and then his top lip until his back smacked against a tree and she pressed her body up against his, pulling his right hand down to cup her ass while her tongue edged inside his mouth until it found his.

Her eyes almost broke him—because they did nothing. He felt not an ounce of what he felt when looked at grey eyes.

The guilt was… He felt he _owed_Lauren something. He pulled his mouth away from hers and whispered breathlessly, "Tell me what you want."

She had undone the button on her jeans and pushed them down, then grabbed his hand and pressed it between her legs. The whole event had made Edward shiver. He realized he had no idea what the hell he was doing and yet… well, he would do what he could, so he had continued to kiss her, moving his fingers up and down the fabric, trying to listen to the low sounds she was making so he could figure out what the hell he was supposed to do. And then Lauren had taken her palm and put it over his hand and pressed down with his fingers and moved them in circles and that seemed to help, because then she was getting louder and louder… and Edward pressed harder and faster because that's what his instincts seemed to recommend.

After a few minutes and some very tired fingers, her moans seemed to dwindle and then she pushed his hand away, nuzzling up against him and sighing against his chest.

And then she had gone for his zipper.

He had pushed her hand away.

She looked up at him in surprise.

"Too much beer," he blurted.

She had laughed. She bought his lie.

Edward had pulled them back to the party. He had stayed for only a few minutes longer, just long enough to see something horrible in Jasper's expression. Edward wasn't sure if it was pity or pain or inebriated stupor. But he knew that if he looked for too long, he would lose himself.

So he'd left.

o()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()o

Edward woke up late one morning to the sound of voices downstairs. His could hear his mom in the kitchen, pans clinking, and her laughter echoing up the hall. It was still early—not yet noon. He had slept late, and his stomach growled, and he was hopeful that he might be able to coax something better than cereal out of her if he begged enough.

Edward came down the stairs sleepy-eyed and dressed in a grubby t-shit and boxers. His hair was in full riot. He jerked to a halt when rounded the counter in the kitchen.

Jasper was in the kitchen. He was sitting on a stool at the kitchen island and had a huge smile on his face as he listened to Esme. Both of them turned to look at Edward as he stood there.

"Oh, hey, Jasper," he managed weakly, meanwhile his hand was furiously trying to smooth down his hair.

Jasper nodded at him. His expression was unreadable.

"Rosalie and Jasper brought doughnuts over this morning." His mom beckoned him in, pointing at the open box of pastries on the table.

Edward tripped on his way to the counter. He didn't know how it had happened. There wasn't anything to trip on except smooth tile.

His mom laughed at him, and then shoved a coffee cup into his hands. "Drink this—it'll help," she insisted. "Oh, and get a doughnut." She pointed again—in the direction of Jasper. The doughnuts were right next to Jasper.

"Pull up seat." Jasper patted the stool next to him.

Edward moved forward rather awkwardly, trying to focus on not spilling the coffee down his front. He wasn't normally clumsy. He hated that he was right now.

It seemed like an eon had passed when he finally made it to the island. He set the coffee down carefully on the counter before pulling himself onto the stool. He grabbed the first doughnut his fingers touched.

"Hmmm…." Esme tapped her chin speculatively. "Those two have been out in that garage for quite some time now—I think I'd better go see if they'd like a glass of _water_. What do you think Jasper?"

"Sure," he replied, and then he made to stand up.

"No, no! Sit right back down!" Esme waved her hands in objection. "Keep Edward company. I'll be right back." And then with a glass of water in each hand, she headed out the door.

Edward was suddenly alone with Jasper. Something he'd wanted, and also something that was currently terrifying him. He bit unthinkingly into the doughnut.

It was a jelly doughnut.

The jelly seemed to erupt out the back end as Edward bit into it, and he tried to catch it with his fingers, but the cherry jelly spilled right through them—out and onto his lap and then down and onto the floor. And Edward yelled an "oh shit!" and dropped the jelly doughnut at the same time that he reached for a napkin—but then Jasper's hand was there, and he had a napkin, but their hands collided and Edward's sticky red fingers brushed against Jasper's clean skin—and Edward said another "oh shit!" and was apologizing while Jasper was shaking his head and refusing his apologies, and then the jelly was just everywhere and Edward was wiping and Jasper was trying to help, and Jasper reached down, and he brushed—he wiped at the red spot on Edward's boxers—and then the _other_—_oh holy motherfucker—Edward prayed he'd think it was just morning wood_—

And Edward had jumped back and Jasper had jumped back, too. Edward had mumbled something?"_Gottagowashupbadroomnow!"_And then he had run up the steps to the upstairs bathroom and closed the door and slumped down to the floor. When his breathing finally steadied, he made himself take a shower. And the lingering stick of jelly doughnut had washed down the drain and away.

He didn't come back downstairs until he saw Jasper and Rosalie drive away an hour later.

o()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()o

The holidays were here. All of his parents' old friends had filled the house.

Including Alistair.

Edward had been sneaking glances at Alistair all night. He'd known Alistair since he was a kid. Alistair was his father's friend, a former colleague who worked at Seattle General. Edward was staring at Alistair because he'd just realized that Alistair was gay.

It had never simply occurred to him before.

And yet Alistair—funny as hell—his dad's best friend, really—had always spent Christmas parties on the back deck. He would sit on the swinging bench and nurse a whiskey while staring out into the night while the rest of the party goers drank themselves silly and sang off-tune carols inside.

Edward had always been close to Alistair, which made it only more surprising to Edward that he had only just now figured out the Alistair was gay—and also good-looking. He had a wry smile, tragic eyes, and black, curly hair with silver wing tips. He wasn't dressed like a gay man in the movies—he was wearing old jeans and a faded leather jacket and a cream collared shirt underneath, though the clothes fit him well. Edward couldn't help but notice these things.

Edward wondered if he had a boyfriend—if he'd _ever_ had a boyfriend. He'd never brought anyone. Not once. No "friend." When he and Emmett were younger, they had asked Alistair if he was going to get married, too.

"Love is one long sweet dream, and marriage is the alarm clock," he'd quipped.

Edward realized Alistair always did that—someone would ask something personal, and Alistair would make a joke. In spite of this, however, Edward had always felt close to the man. Once you got past his coarseness, he was caring. He always showed up with a new book for Edward to read, and ready conversation to discuss all the books that Edward had read since they'd last met. Edward had once thought that Alistair had read everything.

And hence, it was perhaps because of this feeling—the sense that Alistair who had been his mentor in other aspects of life—that Edward decided to confide in him now. Thus he had sat back on the bench next to Alistair, letting them both swing slightly as the smoky trail of Alistair's cigarette curled back and forth. "I think I'm gay," Edward confessed in a whisper.

Alistair, who'd just taken in another drag, choked on the smoke. After he ceased his coughing, he turned to face Edward. "Yeh sure?" he asked, blinking through the haze of smoke.

Edward had shrugged slightly and then gave a quick nod. He couldn't seem to find his voice now.

"You like someone? Boy at your school?" Alistair nodded to himself before resting his sleeve on the arm of the seat and leaning so that he could rest his temple on his knuckles as he examined Edward's face.

Edward didn't really have control of his face—but he was pretty sure it was the taut jaw and guarded eyes that gave him away.

"Boy at your school," Alistair deduced, and then he exhaled a long puff.

Edward didn't say anything. He brought his legs up onto the bench, squeezing his knees to his chest and resting his chin on top of them.

"Well, if he doesn't like you—don't take it _personally_," Alistair muttered with no small amount of irascible irony in his voice.

"How would I even ask?"Edward whispered as he fingered the tear at the top of his knees.

Alistair's mouth opened like he was going to say something, but then he swallowed. "Well, you talked to me, didn't you?"

"I've known you forever—and you're—well…"

Alistair rolled his eyes. "Say '_GAY_,' Edward," his tone mocked and he moved his hands like he was conducting an orchestra. "GAY. Not a dirty word."

Edward looked down, ashamed. "Sorry."

Alistair took a really long drag on his cigarette. "Tis alright." He waved his hand dismissively. "And besides, I'm not really the best person to talk to about this, you know?"

Edward raised his head and frowned at Alistair. "Why would that be?"

"Because my dear boy—the man in front of you is a genuine coward."

"You're not—you're—"

"I'm here alone, aren't I?"

Edward felt like he should say something, but he had no idea how to respond.

Alistair smiled weakly at him. "Love is the same in any relationship—it takes courage, and it's scary," he whispered. And then, so low that Edward could barely hear, Alistair said, "But it is _wonderful_…"

o()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()o

It was on the next day at school that Edward caught the bee.

And that Jasper's words—or lack of words—left a stinging hole.

As Edward walked out to his car in the parking lot, he thought of the small honey bee—the one that had stung him. It would be dead now. The loss of its stinger equaling its certain end. Suicide in its own self-defense.

Useless, Edward thought. Whatever Alistair might say, sometimes courage could kill just as easily cowardice.

Only in epics did heroes always prevail.

o()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()o

His mom and dad had taken a ski trip, and Emmett had decided to throw a party while they were out. Edward had locked himself in his bedroom, feigning illness—he really didn't want to risk drinking again—and even more so, he didn't want to have to tolerate the presence of Lauren Mallory while sober.

He knew he'd hurt her after the camp fire incident. "I was drunk—and I… need to focus on _school_" weren't the nicest words to hear. But he had decided to be _honest_… Sort of.

He started when he heard the knock on the door. He thought about ignoring it at first, but there was something about the knock—not expectant or insistent. Just a polite knock. Edward unlocked and opened the door.

Jasper was standing there, looking ill-composed for Jasper. He had a beer in each hand. Jasper glanced down at them as he spoke. "These were the last two—Emmett said you were sick—but I thought I'd see if you—if you wanted it—the _beer_—I mean." Jasper held the bottles out to him.

Edward didn't take them. "Come in," he said, holding the door wide open and stepping back.

Jasper came into his room without another word. He set the beers down on the end table and then sat down into the cushions on Edward's sofa. It was an old, black leather sofa. Edward had inherited it from Alistair. Edward closed the door. He locked it. He wondered if Jasper noticed that he'd locked it—if Jasper would think anything of it. And then Edward went to grab a beer. _Liquid courage._ He picked up the bottle and just stared. "Oh, I don't have a bottle opener up here," he muttered, spinning the bottle in his hand.

"I have one." Jasper sat up and reached into his back pocket to pull out a set of two keys—and a small bottle opener. Jasper's shirt rode up as he slumped back again, and Edward could see a small triangle of Jasper's warm torso. Jasper handed the bottle opener to Edward.

Edward was just about to open his bottle when Jasper proceeded to blurt out, "I'm _sorry_."

Edward blinked at him.

"I'm sorry," Jasper repeated, looking at him and then looking away, before looking back.

Edward's brow furrowed. "Why would you be...?" Edward looked into Jasper's eyes and he understood. "Oh—_Oh_." Jasper _knew_. Jasper knew that Edward—_liked_—him. But Jasper didn't want him. Jasper knew—he'd seen him lock the door—he'd seen his pathetic optimism and his googly-eyed stares. _I'm__**sorry**__because you're an obvious little gay boy—and no—SORRY—not interested. Sorry_. Jasper had said "sorry" so simply. But the pain Edward felt—the shame—was indefinable. This was how it felt to be rejected. And for all of that, Jasper was being honest and trying to let him down easily. Like Edward had with Lauren.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Edward muttered, staring red-faced down at his beer bottle.

Jasper coughed in surprise. "Groping you? I shouldn't be sorry for that?"

Edward looked up at him in confusion. "That was my stupidity—I made a fucking mess—you were trying to—" Edward's tongue kept tripping on itself.

"I would not be apologizing if it was just an… accident," Jasper groaned, covering his face with his hands.

It took a moment for Edward's brain to process the words, and then he jerked in reflex, and the bottle—which it would seem that he had opened at some point during their exchange of words—shot out beer. On to the wall. Down Edward's arm and onto the sofa. And all over Jasper, on his cheek, on his hand—splattered across the front of his shirt.

It was madness. Surreal and sublime—and Edward felt himself move. He pushed himself forward, over Jasper—his faces just inches from Jasper's. There was still a touch of doubt in his brain—that he was somehow incapable of truly interpreting sound or syntax, and yet there was no stopping him. Edward could see a single golden drop on Jasper's cheek. He leaned forward and licked it.

Jasper was staring back at him, grey eyes mysterious and lost. But then his hands—which had been bracing his body by pressing back against the black leather—let go and grabbed Edward, digging into Edward's hip bones and ass, pulling him close, and then Edward's head was thrown back with no small amount of shameless wonder as Jasper found a trail of amber liquid pooled in the gully in the corner of Edward's neck. He started there with a simple lick and began to draw his tongue upward, over Adam's apple, along the base of the throat, and they both groaned when Jasper's tongue found his way around the edge of Edward's jaw, and Edward's fingers flew to the back of Jasper's neck and grabbed and pulled and their chins scraped as Jasper's tongue found Edward's bottom lip and then Edward's mouth opened ever so slightly searching about Jasper's top lip and then the tingle and flustered surprise of Jasper's tongue touching the inner edge of Edward's mouth. And Edward shook and tightened himself against Jasper—and Jasper's hands slid under the edge of Edward's shirt. And then Edward could feel that he was rock hard and Jasper was _too_and their breathing was furious and relieved and their mouths so wet and soft and full of delirious motion.

Jasper had to wrench his mouth away from Edward's with a gasp, but then in a voice that was low and husky and potently sexy, he gasped, "You're covered in beer." Edward dumbly agreed. And then Jasper pulled up on the edges of Edward's shirt—and Edward raised his arms in the air, and Jasper pulled, and then Edward was bare-chested and wanted Jasper to be as well, so he pulled on the sleeves of the over shirt that Jasper was wearing and pushed it back onto the couch and then Jasper was wearing an undershirt which he tore off with haste, and then Edward pulled Jasper against him, lips finding lips by licking and texture and shape. And the coolness of the room disappeared as the heat of their skin diffused into the non-space between them—and Edward was lost in the sensation of it all—the blurred reflection of his own eyes in grey ones, the slick torrid sucking and the rough catch of tongue on teeth, skin and hair and soft spots and hard lengths.

And the motion of tongues and groping of hands had a rhythm to it, a rhythm that seemed to translate into grinding and rocking as they moved without thought—and then the sensations below overcame the delicious connection above and they just gripped each other, Jasper moving Edward back and forth and Edward pushing with an extra thrust when Jasper pulled him close, jeans rubbing and groans erupting. And their mouths were separated but brushed softly every time they felt the friction and Edward's hands were gripping Jasper's biceps and Jasper was gritting his teeth, and Edward saw Jasper's eyes go stormy in the moment pulling at Edward with less force, and so Edward kissed him and ground and pressed and then Edward let his head slump over Jasper's shoulder, holding him close and feeling the tingle of perspiration and the gentle fading of their breathing.

Jasper muttered something that Edward couldn't make out.

"What was that?" he breathed against Jasper's shoulder.

Jasper laughed lightly and then pulled on Edward's jaw so that he could look at him. Edward moved to kiss him, but Jasper put his fingers on Edward's lips to stop.

"I said I changed my mind. I am _not _sorry."

Edward smiled back at him, and then kissed him again.

o()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()o

Yay. Love!


	2. Ready or Not

_Disclaimer_: Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. The plot down below... it's fan fiction. Hah.

Warning: This is slash. Meaning. Men. I think it's angsty and hawt. You might disagree. If so, please don't read. Thankzeesoverymuch.

**A/N**: Okay, this was post for the Friday Free for All over on Twi like end of July or so. The FFFA is a weekly one-shot series by different authors that is either going to be a threesome, some sub/dom, slash, or some other non vanilla lemons. You can read more, if you'd like: www(dot)twilighted(dot)net/viewstory(dot)php?sid=4327&textsize=0&chapter=18

My thanks on this one goes to my fellow debauched explorer in HP slash, the maleficent and brilliant gallantcorkscrews. She unwound the twisted sentences and forked away the bad imagery in this one, so a thousand thank yous to her. And my final thx to the Third Angsty Goddess, fixer of typos and lover extraordinaire of the _Jaspard_.

* * *

}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{

Ready or Not...

}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{

Edward noticed it when Emmett stopped making the jokes.

Not at first.

But over a period of months.

Emmett used to make jokes like that all the time—never _mean _jokes, just those comments that teenage boys tend to make in a group. The regular jesting: fake kissy-kisses or "Stop ogling his ass, Crowley!" or crotch grabbing-all in a dopey display of masculinity.

Around the same time that Emmett stopped making jokes, their mom started asking questions. She would set down the wash and ask, "Are you doing anything this weekend? Going out with anyone? Anyone you like?"

And she never asked "what girl" or anything like that. Always "gender neutral."

It was weird.

And Edward wasn't ready.

So after senior year, Edward got on the plane.

}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{

A summer in Mexico was supposed to be a reprieve: a chance to read books, dote on miscellanea on the internet, and bump up the Spanish comprehension.

It took him twelve seconds after setting down the suitcase in his new host family's home to realize that wasn't going to happen.

Because Jasper Whitlock had to fucking introduce himself.

"_Ho-__laaah__, bienvenidos a México_-_nuestra_ host mom _es una_ beeyatch, _pero la comida es muy deliciosa_," he drawled in a sarcastic, playful, and undeniably Texan tone.

Edward tried to laugh, but the laugh caught short because Jasper was gazing at him in a way that was anything but heterosexual. It caused a lump to roll up in Edward's throat.

"You're homesick already," Jasper said, his eyes assessing, and then he fucking grinned. "Oh, and my room's right down the hall."

"Oh, right. " His returning look was weak, Edward knew. The muscles in his face felt numb. Like pushing mud.

Jasper smirked in response-at Edward's obvious discomfort. Then, Jasper cocked his head to the side, his tongue touching the bottom of his top row of teeth, and then he smiled, a wry look taking over whatever had been remotely compassionate in his prior thinking. "Why so shy?" he teased. "..._y_ _c__uando tienes un cuerpo como esto_..."

"I have a girlfriend," Edward blurted.

"Course you do," Jasper laughed as he winked. Then he walked away.

}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{

Classes started. Edward avoided Jasper at every opportunity. At the house, he ate quickly at meals-or as quickly as you could at a Mexican meal. He locked his door and went to bed early. But still, they were in a university program, so they spent time together.

Everyone in their program loved Jasper. Fucking _loved_ him.

Even the straight guys. They thought he was hilarious. He seemed to make them comfortable-like they'd known him all their lives. And it didn't hurt that Jasper was so fucking attractive that even the straight guys knew that they were probably not in his league.

And the students went out on weekend excursions as part of the program.

Edward went because... well, there was no because.

Edward just went.

Most of the students would drink. Spill the tequila down their throats until it came back up with irrational hoots or unexpected sexual aggression or vomit.

Edward avoided all three.

But Edward did find himself holding Jessica's hair while she puked into the hotel toilet on their second weekend out.

And then over his shoulder, Edward saw Jasper... Jasper standing still while Mike-fucking-Newton sauntered up to him and decided to test out his bisexuality-Jasper, laughing lazily when (supposedly straight) Newton pressed up against him and flattened both palms against Jasper's chest.

Edward jerked his head away.

Like Jessica, Edward wanted to vomit, too.

}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{

Jasper was flopped back in the armchair, legs crossed so that the mahogany dust on his shoe soles was visible for all the world to see. "Stop staring, Cullen," he taunted without looking up from his book.

"You really are that arrogant," Edward spat, stopping his search through the magazines on the table to glare at Jasper through the cover of his book.

Jasper lowered the book. "Some people have a reason to be arrogant."

Edward rolled his eyes, shook his head and returned to his search.

"_You _have a reason to be arrogant," Jasper murmured.

"But I'm not."

Jasper chuckled. "No, you have your balls in a vise, instead."

Edward snapped his head up. "Oh, so sucking off every dick that crosses your path is something to be proud of?"

Jasper's mouth opened, and then he bit his cheek, the threat of a laugh shaping his open mouth. "Cullen, you've got it all wrong."

"Right, so going into the bathroom stall with Newton was to play cards, was it?"

"Oh, I never said I didn't do anything with Newton—or anyone else—but you said I sucked them—but that's not true, not at all. That's not how I play. I don't suck them—they _suck_ me."

Edward stared at Jasper through gritted teeth and tried to ignore the yo-yo of hot and cold in his middle. And then Edward gave a disgusted scoff, snatched up a random magazine without looking, and left the room.

On his way out, Edward heard Jasper give a loud and exaggerated sigh.

}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{

They went to Mexico City, and Edward let his guard down.

Edward let his guard down because Jasper ran off with María and Rosa, and Edward was safe with Jessica and Angela at the club.

And Edward drank.

The first few shots were followed by lots of eye blinking and spins of the head.

By the third shot Edward was squeezing a lemon onto the arm of a laughing Jessica, sprinkling salt, and licking up in a longer than necessary line before throwing back the sparkling gold liquid.

And then they had visitors join their table.

The visitors were studying in Puebla, or so they said.

One of them sat down immediately next to him.

"Seth," he introduced himself.

Two minutes later, and Edward was licking salt and lemon off of Seth's arm.

Twenty minutes later, and they were in darkest and emptiest part of the bar, behind a column and a cardboard Corona ad, and Edward was pushed into the column, and Seth's fingers were clawing at fabric until they met skin, and Edward was pulling his mouth up to meet Seth's because he tasted sweet like rum and apple, and Edward figured _why the fuck not?_ He would never see him again.

Seth's hand yanked at his jeans button.

It was loose already, so it went flying.

And then Seth's hand shoved down, pushing open the zipper as it went, fumbling past the thin barrier of boxers and then sliding sweaty fingers onto Edward's—

And then both Seth and his fingers were gone from Edward.

A figure was looming over Seth.

_Motherfucking Jasper._

Jasper was yelling. Edward couldn't make out the words at first until Edward caught Seth's reply. A simple "What the fuck, man?"

Edward was fiddling with his pants and pulling down his shirt, but Jasper's eyes were tracing every movement...

And then Jasper looked down at Seth and in a low voice, he punctuated every syllable, "Edward said that he has a_girlfriend_, you little fucker." And the way he said "girlfriend," there was a second implication to it.

Seth pushed off the floor. With a final, irritated glance, he pushed past Jasper and left.

And then it was just Jasper.

"Why?" Edward demanded.

Jasper didn't say anything at first. He just gazed at Edward through slightly gritted teeth. But then he spoke. "You, Cullen, are drunk off your ass."

"That's none of your business," he tried to argue, but it came out as more of a plea, because Jasper was stepping closer to him.

"Oh, Cullen..." he groaned.

Edward was drunk, but he didn't like the look on Jasper's face—like he was torn between pity and anger. He wanted neither of those. Edward pushed Jasper away from him. "Whatever the fuck you're doing_—no_. We have to leave in less than an hour."

And then he turned on his heel and left.

Edward made sure to take his cab home with Angela.

She was safe.

}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{

The program's next trip took the students to an hacienda somewhere near Tlaquepaque. The sky was a watery blue above. The earth was red. Most of the grass was half-dead. Only an occasional copse of cacti, row of irrigated agave, or weather-rotted fence interrupted the surrounding vistas.

They arrived and were given a tour.

Halfway through, their tour paused at an old adobe brick stable.

There was a hatch to the top floor, but the iron ladder had broken a few months back. Their guide said that whoever could manage to get up there could look around.

Newton tried to lift himself up but failed.

The three girls were too short.

Edward put one hand on either iron rung and pulled myself up with first his shoulders and then his stinging biceps. Edward relaxed when his butt reached the edge above and then leaned back and pulled away from the edge.

Cheney's head bobbed up. But then fell.

Edward heard laughter from below.

With arms like that, he was never going to make it...

But then a sandier head of hair emerged, followed by the wide arc of broad shoulders and arms that flexed and unflexed with silent grace.

A clap or two sounded from below.

Jasper scooted to the side wall on the stone story.

"Any other takers?" Jasper called down.

The tour guide, Francisco, called up, "Eh, no. You two, look around if you want, we're a'goin to the chapel."

And then there was the padding of light steps and the disappearing of voices.

Edward could hear Jasper's breathing as he stood, still slightly exerted from the climb. Jasper righted himself and walked over to the far end of the barn, ducking beneath old beams until he reached the window. He looked out at the landscape.

Edward walked over. He came up silently behind Jasper.

For a minute they just looked out at the sloping hills, the almost-mountains.

Jasper broke the quiet. "I can leave if you'd prefer."

Edward shook his head.

Jasper nodded, and then he turned back to the window. "So, what's your deal anyway? Crazy family? Lose your college fund if your dad finds out you like hairy chests?"

Edward stared down at the floor, and then he whispered, "No—I just wasn't ready."

Jasper didn't move, but he asked, "So, what the fuck was that in the capitol?"

"Too much tequila."

"Ah."

More silence.

And then Jasper asked, "So, what about now?"

Edward didn't say anything. He closed his eyes and listened to the silence of the barn and the sweep of the wind. But then he heard it, the subtle scrape of shoes rotating and stepping on old boards.

Edward opened his eyes.

Jasper was there, an arm's reach away—an arm's _grab_ away.

Jasper was all there. Tan, cinnamon skin that came to sudden depths beneath his cavernous cheek bones. The subtle creases across his brow that ended at a coast of soft yellow-hued like sweet corn—but that faded into the wheat-blond farther back, and then his too-long bangs that scraggled down over his forehead. There was the soft slope of his nose and his pleasant, oval nostrils—they were flaring slightly. His breathing was... his breathing was _predatory_.

And then Edward finally really looked. He met the slate gaze. Edward only realized how long he'd been staring when the twin circles of blue-grey flashed, and the black centers seemed to radiate outward—and then his own eyes were so close to Jasper's that he couldn't make them out anymore—they faded out, unfocused ...

"Say 'no,' if you're going to say it," Jasper commanded, and then he grabbed Edward by the jaw.

Edward let out a muzzled croak, an utterance that was split between cock and brain.

Jasper pressed harder on his jaw, digging his thumb in as if to make him speak.

Edward tried to get away, pushing against Jasper, but instead his back-step took him flush with the wall.

And Jasper slammed into him, his right hip bone bruising as it hit hard against Edward's stomach. Jasper's nails dug into his palms and in the gullies between his fingers. Jasper used even his teeth and forehead to push against Edward's face, to push Edward's right cheek smash-cold against the dusty adobe brick and feel the subtle stings of tiny scratches from the contact. And then, teeth and lips brushing against his ear as Jasper growled, "Say _no_, Edward."

At first Edward didn't say anything. Edward said nothing because Edward could feel Jasper's dick through his jeans. And because his own was painful—more painful than purple bruises, jagged nails, scratchy adobe bricks or the rough drive of thumbs. Edward didn't say anything because when Edward jerked his hips—he heard Jasper gasp. But Jasper didn't move. And when Edward did it a second time, Jasper bit into his ear—which made Edward groan. And when Edward did it a third time, Jasper did it back, and a guttural, hissed "fuck" that ached in Edward's ear—even though it had only been a whisper.

Edward turned his neck and pushed against Jasper's hold until he felt the give. Then there were arid lips, an open mint mouth, and slightly sharp teeth pressing against his bottom lip. Then there was an insistent tongue, pushing and licking against his lips, and then there was a hand in his hair and a jerk of impatience, and Jasper insisted, "open the fuck up" against his mouth, and Edward pulled back slightly, enough to say, "I've never really—"

Only to feel the penetration of Jasper's tongue and the force of his lips, from which Edward jerked back with a jarring sucking "pop." He growled, "Jasper, this would be the first time I've done anything fucking sober—"

Jasper cut him off again, but this time by grabbing at his jeans, while his eyes started to close in response. "No fucking kidding, Cullen," he rasped in a low voice, and then he kissed Edward again, though slightly softer with an open mouth and a sideways slant of the head so that their noses were aligned. Jasper's tongue was brushing against his, and there was so much goddamn spit, except Jasper seemed to be swallowing it, taking it in, and so Edward did as well—even licking at the excess on Jasper's chin when it escaped out the corner.

And then Jasper moved.

He took a step back, panting and flushed with sweat at his temples as he looked up and down Edward.

"Unbuckle."

"I thought you said you never..."

"With dumbfuck straight boys."

"I'm, um, I'm..."

"Gay as a pony. Fucking unbuckle."

Edward's trembling fingers found the metal and the loop and pulled. But that didn't seem to be fast enough for Jasper because then Jasper's hands were smacking Edward's away, and Jasper's were yanking on the coarse cotton. Edward felt the drop in temperature first and then the brush of fabric as his dick sprang free.

"Jasper are you sure? I'm just not fucking..."

Jasper stared. He licked his lips. And for a short second, Jasper looked completely vulnerable, but then he smiled at Edward—and it was odd to see, perfect-looking Jasper inches away from Edward's bobbing cock. "It's gorgeous," he murmured.

Edward was going to say something, try to return the compliment, but then Jasper dropped to his knees. One of his hands was looped around the base of Edward, holding firm while Jasper leaned forward and with tongue extended touched it to the tip of Edward, licking at the pearly drop settled at the end.

Edward's arms flailed out, forward and then backward, because he wanted to punch or grab or latch on to something. And Edward's knees were bending more and more and his thighs were burning, but Jasper was making blissful sweet love to his cock—and there was the rosy pink of it against the shining red of Jasper's tongue, and Jasper was moving it up and around in lines and in tight ellipses, right where the veins met, and then Jasper's hand would pump and his mouth would slide down and then suck all the way back up. There was the slick aftermath on his skin and the clenching in his abdomen, and Jasper drew back his mouth but kept the loop of his fingers moving tight and firm up and down Edward. He pulled back after a long draw, and look up at Edward with bright eyes. "Tell me when you're near," Jasper breathed, and then a tight-mouthed, "I want to watch you."

Edward gave only a single nod—he was already so fucking close—and Jasper didn't respond back but took Edward back into his mouth. Jasper started going hot and fast at the top of him. Edward was panting. Jasper was humming and sucking and licking, and Edward felt the jab in his abdomen, and his fingers jerked into Jasper's hair, scratching so as to warn, and Jasper pulled back... and both Edward and Jasper watched as his cock tensed and then shot—and the dull cream spurted out onto the planks below.

Edward slumped to the floor.

Jasper crawled on top of him and buried his face into the crook of Edward's neck, nuzzling affectionately and holding himself tight against Edward.

Edward kissed Jasper's temple—Jasper's gorgeous temple on his gorgeous, cock-worshiping face. "I think you were right," Edward murmured, kissing into Jasper's hair.

"I'm always right," Jasper whispered.

Edward laughed.

And then Jasper lifted his head from the crook of Edward's neck. Edward tried to kiss him, but Jasper pulled back. "We have to go soon—"

At which Edward blinked in surprise.

"But we need to talk about what you're doing when you slide into my bed tonight..."

Edward trembled, but he also smiled.

He was ready.

}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{


	3. Salvaging the Awkward Moment

_Disclaimer_: Twi is Stephenie Meyer's blah. Blah.

_Warning_: boy love. Dude-ish sexual activity. you get it.

**EZrocksangel** and I got together and _collaborated _to write this for Angstgoddess003 as her birthday present. Happy Birthday, AG.

* * *

/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\

Salvaging the Awkward Moment...

\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/

No dude aimlessly paged through a book titled _The Absolute Male_ unless his mind was preoccupied with something or someone else.

She examined him more closely. His paint smeared jeans, four day-old beard, and the tint of cobalt blue under his nails gave him away. _Art major_, she thought with a roll of her eyes.

But the girl watched art dude's eyes for a moment, waiting for him to notice that the pictures contained fully nude portraits of well-endowed men. She knew he noticed the moment his nostrils flared, essentially attempting to scream to the world "I'm an _**artiste**_**. ** I can look at nude men and not get aroused," yet she was sure his act had failed miserably when his fingers wrapped around the binding of the book so tightly his knuckles turned white, and he squeezed his eyes shut, and yet when they opened again, his expression showed neither arousal nor arrogance. His face was solemn—thoughtful, even.

_Curious_... she noted, her head tilted to the side as she speculated over the guy's behavior.

She waited. Happily, she didn't have to wait long. A basketball-tall blond guy, wearing glasses and a dark blue sweater vest, suddenly swept around the corner.

The two men collided.

The blonde's eyes went wide at the same time that art boy's did, but art boy was smaller and lighter, so he was the one who ended up falling backwards into the bookcase. The book in his hands flew and landed with a dull thump, falling open to a photograph of a well-endowed male model perched on a stool. Art boy tried to snatch the book up first, but the blonde grabbed at the same time, and then they were both brushing fingers only to retract them and reach again for the book and then retract again, nervously apologizing for their awkward synchronization. Finally, it seemed art boy allowed the blonde to take the lead, and the blonde picked up the book, standing while apologizing and holding the book out.

With a flustered, mortified smile, Art boy snatched the book out of the blonde's hands.

The blonde looked flabbergasted, but then he saw the title on the book cover, and his eyes widened, which only caused art boy's embarrassment to deepen.

Art boy tried to explain, "I don't like—I mean—" he swallowed, running his fingers over his scruff. "I am in a figure drawing class. We draw humans... and stuff."

"You're an art major?" the blonde asked, obviously trying to be helpful.

"Yeah, I'm Edward," he explained.

"Jasper." He held out his hand.

"Right. Nice meeting you, Jasper," Edward replied, but his voice shook slightly, and it was painfully obvious to anyone that he wanted to run away from the mortification of the situation in general as soon as possible. "I guess, I'll be off?" he asked as terse question.

Before Jasper could reply, Edward spun suddenly on his heel and marched down the aisle, tossing the book of excellent man flesh onto an empty shelf.

The girl would have felt bad for Edward but for the look on Jasper's face. Jasper's eyes were glued on Edward's plaint-spattered, charcoal dusty ass. Jasper looked slightly disappointed, but he also looked... rather interested.

Well, this would be_ interesting. _The girl smiled to herself, and then she went to retrieve the abandoned book...

_\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/_

The next evening found her in the library at the same desk, perched behind the sleek, black computer—a nicer one than the crappy PC back at the dorm. She kept one eye on her Flash project and another on the other patrons of the library.

She was hoping for a show. The interaction between the two boys the prior night had been fascinating. She'd spent the better part of the day thinking about the spark between them, and she wondered if they had as well.

An hour into the evening, the lanky blond—Jasper—made an appearance into her quiet corner. He put his stack of books down on a desk and lowered himself into the creaky, padded chair. He pulled out a some musty history tome, but even though he gave it his best effort, she could tell he wasn't reading.

He was watching. Waiting. His eyes were focused half-an-inch above the top of the book, scanning the room. His face was a bit flushed, and every time someone walked into their quiet area, his eyes flicked guiltily over his glasses in their direction. An amused smile settled across her lips when she was rewarded for her patience as Jasper nearly leaped out of his seat the minute an aloof Edward walked through the stacks.

Edward spared Jasper a fast look, only to see Jasper looking back. Both of them caught, Edward gave Jasper a brief acknowledging smile which the other man returned easily.

She sat back in her seat and watched Edward continue past Jasper's table and into the wide row of bookshelves that lined the room. After an exact count of ten, she heard a chair push backwards, scraping across the hard, linoleum floor and felt, rather than saw, Jasper slip down the same path.

He did not. _But he did! _She wanted to clap! To sing a song. Or make a pretty montage of the moment. _Let the mating games begin! _

She made herself wait a count of five, before she, too, bolted for the stacks. She made sure to go two aisles down, far enough away to be concealed but close enough to hear. She found them around in the reference section. Things were going well. Jasper, it would seem, had some basic social skills.

"I just wanted to apologize for running into you yesterday. I was in something of a rush—and wasn't paying attention to where I was going." Jasper smiled brilliantly.

"Oh." Edward flushed but seemed incapable of speech, he ran his hands down his paint splattered t-shirt nervously.

Jasper and the girl both eyed the muscles under the thin, tight shirt.

_Come on, Jasper. He's just __**shy**__..._

Jasper, thank the Lord, didn't back down. "Are you in the library often?" he asked, leaning forward.

_Good. Good. Get in his space. Test him out._ She nodded to herself. He had her total approval in this.

Edward seemed to freeze and then shiver at Jasper's nearing proximity as he pulled at his hair and sputtered, "I-I'm in the library a lot. Do you like the library? I like the library. There are books and stuff?"

Jasper blinked, absorbing Edward's reticence and then took a step back.

The girl clamped her hand over brow and then pressed her entire face down onto the bookshelf in front of her, almost ready to cry at the wrongness of it all. _Now Jasper was thinking that Edward didn't want him! When REALLY, it was so totally obvious that the utter hotness of being in Jasper's proximity was doing a number on Edward's speech patterns. Stupid. Stupid. Fucking. MEN._

_But then they were so cute..._

Edward, at seeing Jasper draw back, appeared to rally and asked, "What do you like to do? I mean, when you're not in the library? Do you like to go out with people?"

She had to hold back a laugh... "_Go out with people?_"

Jasper, though, was completely serious. "Yeah," he nodded, looking down. "I go out with people all the time," but then his head shot up. "Well, not all the time, and not with a lot of people, but when I found the right, er... person, I'd expect I'd spend a lot of time with them."

_YAY!_ She was ready to burst into applause, despite the wishy-washy "people" business.

But then Edward had to fail her.

"I don't go out much."

She had to restrain herself from pounding her fists into the floor.

Jasper took it as the final rejection. With a sad face and another awkward apology, he left a minute later.

Edward seemed to stand still for a long minute, not moving and obviously lost to thought, until suddenly his face crumpled. Poor fucking idiot. He'd only now realized how he'd missed the most amazing opportunity of his entire fucking life.

She couldn't be mad at him as he sat down and crouched in the aisle with face buried in his hands. She wanted to comfort him and tell him it would be okay, but she didn't know him. He didn't know her, and she had been eavesdropping. And yet, looking at him and recalling Jasper's look of disappointment, she resolved herself to do something.

_There was no reason these pretty boys couldn't be engage in frisky lip locks! It was heinous! It was was wrong! She was going to fix this shit! _

\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/

Little did the two handsome men from the library know, but she was a computer nerd with mad skills—one of those geeky types that could hack into the school data base and stream out any type of information she needed. Like dorm assignments. Library check-outs. Email addresses. Social Security Numbers. NASA codes...

What they also didn't know was that she had a soft spot for 1. romance 2. other nerds and 3. boy love. To have the triple combination of two nerdy, idiotic men clearly digging one another yet not having the fucking bollocks to make a move...

Inaction was _not_ a choice in hell.

Thus, she set to work.

Edward (_Cullen_—she discovered, after a quick round of searching) was most certainly the underdog in this tragic love story. Gorgeous, wildly talented, and notoriously eccentric, he had only one problem. No one knew he desperately coveted the sexy man parts of the tall, blond and dashing architecture student, who had a solid 3.9 GPA, lived in a single in Browning Hall, drove a 2006 Lexus SUV, and owed $37.60 in library fines.

No one knew but her.

The shy but godforsakenly sexy Edward Cullen, it would seem, needed to come out of his oppressive closet—and really, who in the world could be better to assist him than the nerdy, little computer geek no one ever noticed?

She began her plan by sending an email to Edward.

**Mr. Cullen:**

**Your request of **_**Death in Venice**_** is now available. You will have until November 11, 7:00 PM to collect your request.**

**Thank you,**

**Flo Brown  
Library Staff**

After she clicked send, she began work on her second email. She felt Jasper would need a bit more of a "push" than her sweet Edward.

**Mr. Whitlock:**

**You're copies of **_**The Civil War: A Narrative**_** by Shelby Foote, **_**Battle Cry of Freedom**_** by McPherson, and **_**Killer Angels**_** by Shaara are now two weeks past due. Your current amount owed is $37.60. If these titles are not returned by 7:00 PM tomorrow, the entire cost of these books will be billed to your account.**

**PLEASE NOTE that the release of end of semester grades will be held if any a student fails to have a ZERO balance on their library account.**

**WE TAKE BOOK FINES SERIOUSLY.**

**Warmest regards,**

**Toots Bronigann  
Library Staff**

The girl smiled happily at her hard work. Maybe, she was being a teensy bit conniving—but just the teensiest of teensy bits—and besides, THIS WAS IN THE NAME OF LOVE! In her heart, she knew that all these two needed was a simple push in the right direction… and yes, she would certainly prefer it to be one down a long, poorly lit, rarely used reference aisle.

Her heart was generous that way.

\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/

At around 6:45 PM the next day, the girl hovered around the librarian desk waiting for the two star-crossed lovers to arrive. Tugging anxiously on one of her pigtails she glanced at her watch to check the time.

Any minute the victims of her manipulations would either show or not. She was bouncing in her black, zippered boots to the point that she actually knocked over one of the books on display by the front counter.

She needed to calm the fuck down.

Luckily she was the only one around. Well, if you wanted to call it librarians were busy with an _emergency_. A shelf had fallen on the third floor in the languages section. It had fallen and knocked over the shelf behind it, which had knocked over the shelf behind that one. Now, Swahili and Arabic were mixed with Mandarin and Hindi, and the girl was quite sure that world dialects would never be the same at the university.

She shook her head. Those librarians, they should really have paid more attention to the creaky 1940s shelving . With so many books loaded on those ancient shelves, one just never knew when the whole set up would...

Snap. Tip. Fall.

At 6:45, both Edward and Jasper walked in at the same time. She wished she could admit to being surprised at their dual punctuality, but something about Edward's over-eager pace and Jasper's stylish messenger bag gave them away for being the crushing boys she knew them to be. It truly was a match made in nerd-boy heaven.

Edward walked up to the check out counter first—his eyes focused on his iPhone, unaware that he was about to run into Jasper's back—which he did, one second later.

"Ugh," he said, almost dropping his iPhone, but then he glanced up, saw Jasper, and a panicked look washed over his face. "Oh! It's you—well, I-I, um, guess it's... er... my turn to apologize for running into you?"

Jasper, highly amused and clearly happy to see Edward again, gave him a lazy smile —at which, both Edward and the girl swooned.

Clutching desperately for balance onto a large column separating the rooms, the girl let herself wonder what it would be like to wake up to that face in the morning—those gorgeous cheekbones and that yellow-brown hair—but then that thoughts cut off—because she saw Edward's face, his mouth slightly open, his knuckles turning white as his hand clung to his phone like it was his anchor, and his eyes looking almost frantic—looking at Jasper before jerking to stare at the counter and then to sneak another glance again before staring at the floor. Then there was the way Jasper just seemed to take it all in one slow, suave stride.

_No_, she decided, _having one or the other would not be sufficient. __**Watching **__the two of them together on the other hand..._

"No problem," she heard Jasper reply, the grin still gracing his lips. He was confident but she noticed something Edward hadn't. Jasper's fingers were balled into tight fists by his side.

He totally wanted to touch his hair.

She wanted to touch his hair.

Someone needed to touch his hair—immediately.

Edward didn't reply. His eyes were trained on Jasper's mouth.

His impossibly soft-looking, pink mouth.

Jasper cleared his throat.

Edward's eyes suddenly shot up to Jasper's—and he realized—again—but then he seemed to compose himself. He leaned back on his heels and said, "I um...think that maybe I am er...supposed to meet the Librarian here by seven? Have you seen anyone? Any people? Librarians?"

Jasper stared at Edward with a puzzled expression, "No, in fact, I'm supposed to meet her here by seven, too—otherwise my credit history will be in jeopardy, I fear," he joked. He glanced around the area, "It looks like someone stole the librarians."

The girl snickered from her hiding spot. "Stole the librarians," indeed.

Edward, naturally, turned beet-faced and said nothing.

But Jasper said nothing either!

These two were pathetic and going nowhere fast, but then...

Edward did the most amazing thing. He fulfilled their fantasies right in the middle of the library. It was almost like porn. He shrugged slightly and ran his fingers through his erratic hair, causing the whole mess of it to stand on end. The simple act was innocent and random and vague—yet at the same time it was anything but. The girl clamped her hand over her mouth for fear of being heard laughing. She forgave Edward for everything. That move was totally _intentional_—it made him look sheepish and nervous, but that one motion, the hand in the hair—it was pure sex—and Edward knew it. It would seem that she'd fucked up and misjudged the boy—he spoke with actions—not words.

Jasper had watched the entire action with something close to awe. His jaw was hanging open.

The girl hoped he'd drool.

Because then _maybe _Edward would lick it up! A girl had to have dreams.

But instead, Jasper's mouth snapped shut. "I"m heading upstairs. There's a book I want to look at. You want to come?" Jasper asked, cutting to the chase.

Edward turned a hint of pink, but nevertheless, he smiled and nodded. "Yes, umm... sure."

"Good," Jasper murmured, and his gaze swept up and down Edward's body before he turned and made for the stairs.

Edward followed him with a wide smile.

Twenty paces behind, the girl followed with eager skips.

As she crested the top of the steps, the girl knew she had ventured into questionable territory. Was she a voyeur? A stalker? A pervy college junior with too much time on her hands and a fascination with boy on boy romance?

A solid yes to all of the above.

Jasper and Edward went far down the long row of shelves, passing study rooms and small lounge areas until they reached the far back corner of the library. They stopped when they reached the final line of shelves. Then Jasper, not sparing a glance for Edward, reached up on his tip toes to grasp a book that was on the top shelf.

With the fucking shelves in the way, she couldn't see Edward's reaction, but she did see the way he seemed to take a step forward. Then he asked, "What's the book?"

Jasper chuckled. "Soviet Power Structures under Lenin," he read allowed.

"Lenin was an interesting man," Edward murmured, and then he leaned forward, and the girl saw through the gap in the shelves as his hand reached out, brushing along Jasper's arm until his fingers stroked the completely meaningless book. "Russian art suffered under him in many ways, though."

"Russian art..." Jasper repeated in a voice she could barely hear.

"Do you like art?" Edward asked him, and the girl had to suppress an excited giggle as Edward's pulled the book out of Jasper's hands. She heard the reverberating clang as it hit the lower shelf.

"I do," Jasper replied in a voice that sounded as if was out of breath.

Which made her wonder....

She looked down through a lower shelf to see Edward's other hand...

On Jasper's hip.

Thumb out.

Thumb inches from a sizable pants bulge.

The girl had a near moment as she almost knocked an encyclopedic-sized volume off the shelf.

But above the two idiots were _still _talking. "Hmmm," Edward hummed, and then he leaned up to...

The girl stood on her tip toes to see it.

Jasper met Edward half way. His hand reached up to grab the back of Edward's jaw and his lips parted, and he took a there was the slow descent of faces until Jasper caught Edward's top lip between his own lips, and she saw the subtle glimmer of Edward's pearly teeth press into Jasper's bottom lip and then the back and forth, lips catching lips and then the subtle debut of red. (They were onto tongue!) Jasper's hands were in Edward's hair and along his jaw. His breaths were frantic puffs, and Edward was being a handsy bastard, totally gripping Jasper's ass and...

She had to look down through the lower shelf again.

_Holy fuck._

Yep. Thumb rolling up and down on the bulge.

No wonder poor Jasper looked ready to keel over.

She was ready to keel over just watching it. The girl kept her eyes glued to the boys on the other side of the shelf but made quick fanning motions with her hand. _Was it getting hot in here?_

The two of them were edging slowly toward the back wall. She noticed, with interest, that the previously shy Edward had become the aggressor, dominating the moment. Jasper seemed to be incapable of doing anything but backing up as Edward's persistent presses drove him backward. When they reached the wall, Jasper's head hit first, and he jerked back with a quick yelp, breaking the kiss.

Edward's hand left the lower parts of Jasper and quickly moved to cup the back of his injured head. "Shhh," he cautioned. "We don't want anyone to hear."

Jasper nodded, and then asked with a crafty, "And just what would they hear?"

Edward gave a light laugh, and then reached down, gripping Jasper through his jeans again.

Jasper gave a shocked and low groan, and Edward, himself laughing, pressed his hand over Jasper's mouth to smother out the sound.

"Yeah, maybe we should do this somewhere else..." Edward shrugged.

The girl, peeking through the shelves, felt like crying. Her mouth even opened and the words, "No" almost tumbled over her lips.

Almost.

But Jasper saved the day.

"No."

_Thank God._

Edward looked confused. "No?" he asked incredulously.

Jasper shook his head "no," and then rasped, "Now. I need you _now_," and then he shoved wide-eyed Edward, and the dynamic between the two changed. Edward stumbled back, at least two or three feet, but Jasper kept up with him, his hips pressing Edward still farther back, and then they were closer to the end of the aisle. The girl followed Jasper's eyes until she saw what he saw. An empty book cart.

She was more then pleased when Jasper's hands scooped up under Edward, lifting him with straining biceps and then Edward was on the top of the shelf of the book cart. The cart creaked under his weight, and she closed her eyes waiting for it to break, but it never happened. When she looked again, she could tell the angle of their bodies was near perfect, because Jasper pressed into Edward, and Edward's legs came up, wrapping themselves around Jasper's long waist, beaten green Birkenstocks half dangling off his toes.

There was another kiss. Jasper dark blond head dipped into the curves of Edward's neck. Edward's heels dug in--his shoes dropping to the ground one at a time. He pulled on Jasper's sides with a jerk.

A whispered round of cursing caused her to strain her ears.

"Fuck."

"God. Damn."

It was with the cursing and the grinding that the motions were established, the slight roll of the cart aiding them in their mid-aisle _frottage_.

"Fuck. Dear fucking—holy shit."

"Fuck-fuck-fuck."

Edwards hands moved up and down Jasper's back in a semi-constant rhythm while Jasper's hands were braced against the cart,and there was the wonderful way his ass so obviously flexed through his jeans, even as each thrust into Edward became faster and more frenzied.

Both she and they realized at the same time that the cart was about to...

The cart smacked against the book shelf. There was the softest of creaking sounds, and then a series of books toppled. Jasper jerked them both out of the way.

They fell along with the books, landing at the side of the cart.

She thought they might stop then. She feared it, but they didn't. Books and bruised bottoms be damned! If anything, their movements intensified—hands and lips fighting furiously. They seemed to need more (which was fine by her), and Edward's t-shirt was pushed upwards and then Jasper's blue sweater vest was thrown to the side and the tails of his white button-up were pulled out of his pants and the shirt was shoved up. Edward was on top of Jasper, and stooping down, she could see Jasper staring with a smile into Edward's eyes, and the bottom part of their chests and their abs were touching, and she was sure that skin felt soft and warm and taut...

Jasper proved her point on this.

"You feel—so—fucking—amazing," he grunted

Edward answered by yanking up Jasper's shirt. His latched on to a pale mauve nipple and while his other arm was bracing him, balancing him while he still kept an angle against Jasper.

Jasper obviously liked the nipple sucking move, but it seemed he wanted Edward higher up, because he grabbed him, fingers hooked in belt loops and pulled Edward up his body so that he could kiss him soundly, and mostly so that the excellent friction was restored.

They didn't talk much after that.

Ear lobes got bitten. Jaw lines got traced with tongue. Noses clonked at an oddly angled kiss.

The girl lay on the floor, trying to keep the perspective clear as she watched them over the tops of a row of accounting principles books. She knew it when the moment started to draw close.

They both gave these rapid, hissing pants, and Edward's fingers dug into Jasper's shirt—she was pretty sure those nails would leave cobalt crescents—and Jasper started nodding furiously, and then his eyes clenched, and Edward gritted his teeth, and Jasper wrenched Edward's mouth onto his, and they finished on the floor with their kiss suffocating their groans.

_Well done_, _boys._ The girl smiled softly, almost proudly.

They lay there, panting and looking into each other's eyes.

She left them there, feeling for the first time like she was intruding. She went down the stairs and sat a bench just outside the library.

She dug through the bag she had placed at her feet. Rummaging for a minute she pulled out a pack of cigarettes and but groped around impatiently for her lighter. Irritated she huffed for a minute trying to decide what to do.

They emerged roughly ten minutes later, disheveled and lost to bliss. Jasper had his hand on Edward's book bag strap, and he was tugging it gently and urging Edward to head to his place. They stopped directly in front of her.

On impulse, she hopped from her position on the bench and asked, "Hey, ummm... neither of you happen to have a lighter, do you?" She held out her cigarette as evidence of her need.

Jasper shook his head no, but Edward reached his blue-stained fingers into his pocket and pulled out a green lighter. "Here," he said, and a soft yellow flame burst out of the top.

She inhaled and blew out a puff. "Thanks," she said. Her appreciation was for more than just the light.

Edward nodded and shifted his focus back to the man who was still pulling him in the direction of his dorm room.

"Please?" she heard Jasper whisper as she walked away and settled back down on her bench.

Edward agreed, not verbally, but he allowed himself to be pulled in Jasper's direction with a smile on his beautiful face.

The girl sat thoughtfully for a few long minutes, taking slow drags on her cigarette. If she put enough effort into it, she bet she could hack into the video feed from Browning Hall...

\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/o\o/


	4. The Kinsey Scale

**Title: **The Kinsey Scale**  
****Pairing: **Edward/Jasper **  
****Summary****:** Edward is madly in love with his roommate-who is not gay. ...or is he?  
Edward decides he detests pop psychology.  
A tale of botched seduction, cocktail confetti, subway songs, and dour uncles

**So... I can out myself now. LOL. This was my entry for the In the Closet contest, which won second place. woot and all. Angstgoddess003 and I enabled each other into writing slash one-shots, so anyway, she also wrote a super geeked out short story, _In the Name of Science_, which is funny, adorable, and (hawt)-and you should go read it, immediately on the contest page because I think its going to take her a month to post it on her site... **

**Otherwise, I had a great deal of fun watching the feedback from contest (since it was anonymous), so I'd like to thank all the people who reviewed (when I couldn't reply), thank the wonderful judges adair7, belladonna1472, camoozle, duskwatcher2153, en-glace, and then the hosts, queenofgrey and bananapancakes. **

And to the lovely **Ellecc**, who beta'd, supeh-dupah snuggles.

* * *

It goes like this: I am madly in love with him.

I know because his teeth are disgusting.

Fine, not _disgusting._ Crooked. The bottom row makes the Pyrenees look flat. Texan ranching families apparently don't believe in the suburban mandate of orthodontia. So, yes, fine. I'll confess: Those dental pearls are sickles, absent of symmetry, and yet I want to suck the sheen off each ghastly triangle.

I know I love him because when I'm messing with my keyboard, humming or fiddling or what have you, he'll come in strumming his guitar with an orange bandanna that says "Paco's Tacos" on his brow, and the way my fingers are pressing on the keys it's like sad, public masturbation, like my fingers are dicks being jerked with pathetic, indeterminate squalls, because I can't relax. If I do, I look at him. I look at him. I stop playing, and I have to beg off. That's why I make myself stay now no matter what. I won't let myself hurt him. It's better to make the face smile, bury my melancholic notes with turgid finger jerks. Let him sing.

I'll cry later.

I know I love him because when I see him with _her, _I hate myself. She's beautiful, and not in a boring way either. She has porcelain skin; a sharp, quick nose; and... if I'm honest... amazing hair. It's short, but the angel-black curls somehow make her look like a sylvan princess. It makes you want to touch her face. Kiss the top of her head. This is why I hate this soft little woman. Alice.

This is also why I tell her, when she asks, that yes, I could fuck her.

"Hmmm..." Her eyes do a sidewinder before they roll back. She's imagining herself as a journalist. She always does this. "But you don't like _vag_." It almost comes off as an accusation, like she's a daytime talk show host.

"But I can appreciate beauty." I award her with a seductive smile. "Fucking you would be like art in motion. I could handle that. After all, I'd die for art. I'm an_artist_. I get a hard-on for Picasso. I can get a hard-on for your pretty figure—although..."—I frown in apology—"we might have to do it from behind."

But Alice presses on, and I don't not notice the tinge of pink staining her cheeks. "So, that would make you a 5—I'd pegged you as a 6."

"I'm pretty sure I only get pegged because I'm a 10." I pout.

Jasper, flopped as he is in the recliner, laughs. "Not that scale, Edward. She's talking about the Kinsey scale."

I turn back to her. I quirk a brow.

Alice explains, "It's for my Sexuality class. The scale attempts to describe a person's sexual history or episodes of their sexual activity at a given time. A 0 is completely heterosexual. A 6 is completely homosexual. A 3 is bisexual, etc."

"So, I'm a 5?" I deduce.

"On the scale."

"What are you?"

"A 3."

"Really?"

"Yes." She axes the final _s _on the word in a way that is uncharacteristically defensive, but then she shrugs. "Besides, Jasper's a..." She turns to look at him. "A 2 or a 3, we said?"

"2.5," Jasper says.

"Which is pretty much a 2," she says. _D-e-f-e-n-s-i-v-e_.

But I'm not listening with any real care. There is a number that's echoing in my head. _2.5 - 2.5 - 2.5_ Which is another way of saying that Jasper's had thoughts about men before. Read: Not completely straight. Maybe, he's even thought about...

I rise. I have to leave the room. They're staring at me, but I make an excuse about having forgotten an assignment.

Really, though, I flee. I can't handle his eyes right now.

-o-

For your information, I do not say yes every time someone grabs my cock and kisses me.

Of course not.

But... it was in the dark room, and it was Riley, golf-clubs-and-waxed-beavers-only-Riley, who groped me. It also didn't hurt that his biceps were perfect. He'd been talking to me for some time. I'd been ignoring him.

"These pictures are going to be great," he said.

"Great," I agreed.

"But geez, I guess, that's stupid for me to say. Your pictures are always really good."

"Thanks."

"I like them... the best. Of the whole class, I mean."

"That's really nice."

"Especially, the"—he swallowed—"the self-portraits. You're pretty hot normally, but you're also incredibly photogenic."

That's when I feel fingers on my forearm, and I realize that I have been propositioned. The line of dialog clicks.

I stand silent as I feel the fingers slide up my arm, and then there is the step forward, the closing of proximity. I let him. I let him lick against my neck and cup my ass as he breathes in overeager pants. I help him out when his fumbles with my jeans buttons become awkward yanks. He's messy when he sinks to his knees, but as far as dark room experimentation goes—it isn't bad.

For, with an imagination as wild as mine, I can imagine anything. In the darkness, I can replace one blond for another.

-o-

Riley's got his dick inside me, and my fingernails are snagged in the paisley distress of the recliner arms. The rocking of the chair is coinciding with the smacking of my prostrate. I am close, so close. That's why I don't hear the jangle of keys, the opening of the door.

When I see Jasper, it's the second after Riley's bitten into my shoulder to come. The pain from the bite has made me jerk—right—to face the doorway. Then it's like it's in slow motion, except that it's in less than a second: I'm coming and coming and shooting out, but my eyes are fixed on Jasper's. On his shocked blue eyes. On his hand that is searching the shape of the wall for support.

I close my eyes. Behind me, Riley pulls out with a hissed _fuck_. He flips us, and we're rocking in a tangle on the recliner.

I hear the slam of the door.

Riley's mad. He's not okay with Jasper knowing about his dalliance with cock.

Fuck him.

But whatever questions Riley's asking, whatever curses he's making—I shush him.

I just came, I just watched _Jasper _as I came, and right now, all I want is to be rocked in this over-sized chair.

-o-

Alice asks me for a threesome, and I spit Chambord and tequila across the coffee table. Jasper's in the kitchen, looking for a beer.

"No," I shake my head. "I don't do threesomes. Ever."

"Why not?"

"I'm selfish. It's supposed to be about me," I snip.

She sulks for a second, staring at me like she can break my resolve.

When I merely smirk, she turns away. "That's why I'm confused," she mutters low, almost like she doesn't want me to hear her, and Jasper comes into the room with his beer cuddled to his chest.

Jasper frowns though when he sees the pink alcohol trail across the table, but then he looks up at me and grins, if a bit tightly. "Edward, you really need to keep the fluids off the furniture."

I sputter, and Jasper laughs at my reaction, but Alice... Alice doesn't respond at all. She merely looks confused.

That's when I realize. He didn't tell her.

-o-

We haven't been talking much these past two weeks. Part of it is midterms. Part of it is Alice. Part of it has been that Jasper saw me getting fucked raw, and neither of us has weeded that part of the garden, so to speak.

But when I come in on Thursday night, and he's on his bed with his face smashed into the pillow, I know there's something more than normal amiss.

"Jasper..." I call, walking across the room toward him.

He doesn't say anything, just lies there. Perfect and beautiful and pillow-smooshed.

I sit on his bedside. "Hey, you all right? Was Banner's midterm awful, like you thought? I meant to ask Eric, but I forgot."

"Midterm was fine," is what I hear grumbled through the pillow.

"Things okay with Alice?"

He rolls over. His eyes are red, not red like he's been crying, but red like they've been open for too long, or like allergies season is in high swing. But it's not. It's the first full week of March and everything is still dead.

"Alice, she's..." He trails off. His hands start to reach for the pillow. He wants to flip back over and hide again.

I stop his hand. I grab it and pull it toward me, squeezing it firmly and resting it on my thigh.

Jasper knows I'm not leaving until I've heard it, so he continues. "Fuck. Alice's been on the sexuality kick, right?"

"I didn't notice." _Sarcasm_. "She's been soliciting group sex."

Jasper doesn't laugh. "I was... okay with it. I mean two girls, right?" He gives a weak chuckle.

I make zero attempts to hide my revulsion at the image. I'm probably not a 5. _Or maybe a 5.5... _Regardless, I say, "I take it the incident didn't go so well—since you're hiding in your pillow."

He nods. "At first, she kept saying that we'd switch it up. That we'd try it with a guy, and then a girl, but..." Jasper shook his head. "It was really stupid."

My mouth is dry. "So, who was the girl... the guy?"

"There was no guy." He doesn't look at me.

"Who was the girl?"

"Bella Swan. You might know her. She's an English major. You might have had her in a class?"

I shake my head.

"Well, she... and Alice..." He sighs. "They liked it better than I did. I mean, I liked the idea of it, but when it came time to act—I just told them I'd watch."

"Oh."

"Don't say 'oh' like that. It's too ominous."

"Um, I can't imagine it's good to watch your girlfriend get it on with someone else?"

"Yeah... I didn't like it. I mean, they were both beautiful, but it was them. It wasn't... whatever it was supposed to be, but I don't know, Alice seemed to have a really good time."

"She came in an angry torrent of girl love?"

"They both did."

"Right. So..."

"So?"

"Wanna get wasted?" I offer brightly.

"That's really not smart."

"Call it imbecility. Imbecility sounds like the highest form of stupid, doesn't it?"

Jasper snorts. "You're so..." His face breaks into a smile. "Let's get out of here."

-o-

I don't get to choose because this is Jasper's cheer-up session, so instead of going to the Mandarin Oriental where I could drink _Kir Royales_ and nibble on petite egg rolls, Jasper convinces me to roll with the farm animals at the his favorite "dive bar."

When we enter, the bartender, better known as Leah, smiles idiotically at me, and greets, "It's Edward!" She thinks I'm funny because apparently, I never enter her establishment without a pout.

"I want something... blue," I announce. I brush off my bar stool before scooting forward.

"Miller Light," Jasper orders.

"Heathen!" I gasp at the blasphemy. "Don't let him imbibe that." I turn my pleading eyes toward Leah.

Jasper turns toward me, as is our routine. "I don't have your monthly allowance."

"Which is why _I_ am paying for... a Brooklyn Lager or an Allagash. Oh wait, how about a Blue Moon?"

"Compromise. I'll get him the lager," Leah says, ignoring Jasper pointing at the Miller Light sign, and she heads off to the other end of the bar.

"But what if I don't want...?" Jasper trails off.

"You do," I say. "You may not know it yet, but you do."

Jasper gives me a weird look.

When Leah comes back with Jasper's beer, I point. "It's delicious. I know it."

"You don't even drink beer," Jasper grumbles as he takes a sip.

"But he reads brewery reviews," Leah says, grinning at the two of us as she wipes off the counter

Jasper doesn't even argue. "Somehow, I'm not surprised." He shakes his head, and then he takes a real drink.

Next thing I know, Leah has brought me my something blue. It has both a slice of grapefruit and a cherry bobbing at the top of the basin. I am absurdly pleased. I decide, as I do within fifteen minutes every time we come here, that I adore Leah more than life itself.

Jasper and I drain down our first drinks quickly.

Leah brings us another round, although I switch to "green."

We proceed to get skunk drunk.

-o-

"Edward, no," Leah answers me. "I'm not bringing you a Bloody Mary. That'd be disgusting. Besides, I'm trying to keep you on Tequila. If you switch around too much, you'll be sick."

"I want blood."

"What about another red drink?" she offers.

"But only the tomato looks really red. The rest look pinky."

"No."

"But I want the full rainbow!" I growl-whine, baring my teeth. I am vicious. Roar.

At my side, Jasper is giggling. His arm is crossed across his face, and he is giggling with little snorts on the lacquered bar.

Leah rolls her eyes, and repeats, "No."

"Fine, just bring me a shot," I grumble.

Leah sighs. "I'll bring you a final tequila shot, but then I'm cutting you off. _Off_. Got it?"

I bestow her with a solemn nod.

I happily slurp down my shot when it arrives. Jasper is now nursing a whiskey like a swaddled infant, close to his chest. He has refused to obey the beer-before-liquor-never-been-sicker rule.

-o-

When we finally leave, I'm singing "Somewhere over the Rainbow" in a terrible key, and Jasper has taken to pointing out all of the colors in the crayon box.

"Cinnamon."

"Periwinkle."

"Watermelon."

"Magenta." He's pointing at the late 1980's theme of our hallway's wallpaper.

"No that's fuchsia," I correct him.

"Fuck-you-sa," Jasper twists the syllables.

I laugh, although I also manage to figure out the keys to get into our apartment. I plug the key in and I turn and push. The door swings open, hits the wall, and bounces back. I get smacked in the head. I fall down.

I cry. Sort of. It's more like a grunt-whimper-whine.

Jasper pats my head, threatens the doorframe with a scary fist, and then slides down beside me. "We never made it into the living room," he says ponderously.

I lift up to observe this fact. The living room is far away. "Like eight feet," I whisper in dread.

Jasper's eyes go from mine to the start of the living room carpet, and he too finds the distance to be lengthy. "Should we crawl?" he asks.

"If I crawl, I might puke?"

"Crawl!" Jasper gives the battle cry and charges forward.

I lunge for him before he can get away.

"Edward," he complains. I have captured his ankle. It is mine now.

He tries to take it back, but I give no quarry. That is, until I sniff.

"You have bad feet smell." This is even worse than the crooked teeth. Because I find it endearing.

Jasper flips over on his elbows even as his ankle remains gripped in my clutches. "I need water. So do you, and you're putting a halt on my journey to the oasis." He gets twangy on the last few words as he points toward the kitchen.

His twang shall not undo me. "You have a very nice ankle even if it's smelly," I tell him.

Jasper sniffs. "You're the one who won't let go of my foot."

"I won it fair and square. I'm not letting go of it without a fight."

As I say these final words, the drunken haze in Jasper's eyes morphs into a calculating kind of glitter—but I'm prepared. In the next second, Jasper's leg is kicking in my arms. His other leg swings out, trying to knock me away, but _I_ was a gymnast in high school. While he was playing with his ponies on the ranch, I was doing flips off the double bars.

This means I end up on top of him. Both of us are hissing out-of-breath giggles. We're laughing so hard that I'm shaking, and my arms are wobbling, which makes me decide that arms, as structural appendages, are pointless. They're just long floppy things, anyway, so I release them and more or less flop down onto my best friend, my roommate, Jasper.

Bad idea.

Jasper lets out an "Oomph" and another round of giggles, which would be funny except there's another problem.

Put my lower extremities against any man when I have my tequila-time goggles on, and I'll probably stone-up.

Put me against Jasper I-am-the-most-beautiful-of-all-God's-creatures and I'm an instant diamond. Extreme pressure. Heat. It's chemistry.

So, yes, "the elephant in the room" is what's in my pants and pressed up against my best friend.

I start to pull away almost immediately, except that as I am sliding down and away, I feel...

I stop. It's wrong, but I press against him again.

I have to know. I have to.

His grunt, and the way his lips press with the tiniest tip of bottom tooth showing. Yes. He's hard, too.

And more importantly, he hasn't moved away.

I climb back up him. He's watching me, dilated pupils seeming extra huge in the dark of the room. He's not tense. He's just so _here_.

"Jasper," I say.

He doesn't respond. He just looks at me.

"Jasssper," I repeat, and I let a smile creep onto my lips as I look down at him.

He smiles back at me, a toothy grin.

It's so silly. I want to kiss him. I tell him this. "I want to kiss you."

He keeps on looking at me with that deep-eyed stupor. It's not saying no.

So I do. I cup either side of his face. I tilt his chin up. I move in slowly. Our lips brush. We're perfectly aligned. Jasper gives a short gasp, and I nip gently, so very gently at his bottom lip.

Then I wait. Suspended.

He has to kiss me back. If he doesn't kiss me back, I'll go. This isn't about a simple seduction. It's about _him_. I want him. I want every stupid song and every stupid Crayola hue in his eyes, skin, hair. I want him to want me. Nothing short of that is worth it. This friendship isn't worth a simple one-off.

I love him too much.

At first, I'm not sure if it's the trembling of my own lips casting spit-fire about in my imagination or if it's Jasper. But then there's a real press of lips. I feel the crooked line catch of teeth against the skin of my bottom lip, and then I moan. It's loud, and ridiculous, but _he kissed me back_, and it's delicious like Christmas because my heart just exploded.

His lips are mine now. I decide this, and then decide it's okay to bite them. It's okay to pry them open with my own lips and drink them down.

I'm kissing him in a fury. It's open-mouthed and my tongue is cold in the air until it's melting in the steam of his mouth, and _his hands_. They're on me. They're not on the floor. They're on me. One is on my side and the other is on my ass.

He's as hard as I am, and yes, I may have sneaked a peak or ten at my roommate—he never locks the door, goddammit. But the feel of him against me. I'm thinking about size and length and feel and—I want to see.

I go for his button.

Jasper breaks the kiss. His eyes are wide. He looks...

But then the button is undone. The zipper is down—I have nimble fingers—and I'm gripping him, the whole silky length of him.

"Motherfucker," juts out of Jasper's lips, and his eyes are squeezed into folded fans even as his mouth is widened in an outtake of breath.

I kiss those filthy lips, and I grip him. I roll my thumb around his head and pump upwards.

Jasper's nails slice into the skin of my back. His mouth dives for my neck. I feel the subtle sink of teeth along my neck and the shiver of the accompanying moan.

I want more. More. More.

I slide down. I push his knees down, off of their grip on my sides and I scoot down him.

I lick him. I expect to hear a gasp, a thrilled exclamation.

But no.

I hear a "no." It's soft and barely discernible above his loud breathing, but it's a "no."

I almost choose not to believe it, but then Jasper says the word, "Alice."

I pull back, shaking my head. _No, no, no. _They are my words now. I have claimed them.

I sit up on my knees and cover my eyes with my fingers as I will it all to go away. My stomach starts to churn. I can't stop it from happening.

I vomit on the tiles of our entryway.

-o-

I am a coward.

It begins with me waking up the next morning on my bed. The sheets around me might feel silken, but all I feel are the flames. The burning filth of regret. More importantly, I have shit I can't fathom under my nails. There is scatter plot of blue, tequila-smelling droplets graphed down my left shoulder, and my mouth still tastes of puke, toothpaste, and heartbreak.

Jasper is on the recliner next to my bed. There's a glass of water next to him on the end table. His head is slumped to the side in my direction. Despite the _chitty-chitty-bang-bang_ cacophony that I have made in my journey from my pillow to the center of the room, he has not moved. He remains out cold.

It's in this moment that I must choose. I could blame it on drunken imbecility, pretend I don't remember.

But it wasn't. But I do.

This is why I am the worst of cowards. I can't let go, but neither can I face it—him. I must flee with my over-sized keyboard and my crumbly peddler's cap smashed over my especially tragic hair.

The thing is I'm not sure exactly where I am going. I walk through the park, descend into the subway, and follow the "Uptown" signs. I almost never take the subway. Since the moment that all city taxis were required to take credit cards, I have not descended into the city depths.

I'm in my seat. There's a bored-looking Rasta chick across from me who's staring at me. Even though I give her the stink-eye, she just keeps staring at me. I decide she's smoked enough pot that her eyeballs won't move anymore. Then again, I suppose a broken, gay, Abercrombie-pretty man carrying a large musical instrument would be fascinating to a dirty, stinking stoner at six a.m. Fuck her.

I more or less play _Eeny, meeny, miny, moe _with the train stops. I might be in Queens. I could be in Harlem. Who knows? I just rush out the door in one burst of inspiration, making my way down the subway tunnel until it widens into a corridor, and then, without checking to see what scum is on the floor, I plop down. I turn on my keyboard and begin to play.

A note here, a note there. Random chorus. Half of a sad song.

I've been playing for at least ten minutes when I see a woman in a business suit, clutching a dollar and looking at me in confusion.

She thinks I'm playing for money.

I reach into my bag, search through until I find my box of colored pencils. I dump them into my bag and then I break the box in two and scrawl:

"No money. No pity. Please leave me to my pain — and piano playing."

I set this sign in front of the woman with a blank look. The woman reads the sign and then holds the crumpled dollar out to me anyway.

I give her my I-hate-all-vaginas-in-the-whole-damn-world look.

It doesn't seem to have the effect. She gives me a squiggled frown before walking away. I return to my keyboard, cranky, sad, and desperate to disappear in the notes, in the sounds of passing trains and rushing passerby. I want it all to end.

I am annoyed when I am yet again distracted. I feel a tap on my shoulder. I look up, and the face causes my piano playing to collapse in an awkward smattering of flats.

"Dr. Cullen?" I say, blinking.

"Hi, Edward."

"Hello."

Dr. Carlisle Cullen has nothing to do with photography or music. He teaches Biology. Yet, it's because he is probably the hottest forty-year-old male on the campus that I passed over "Ecology and the Earth" which would have been an idiot's A for his Honors Biology course. Yes, I sat in the front row. Yes, I definitely was a regular during office hours. Yes, I got an A, but what I really wanted was to be stripped naked and given an anatomy lecture while being videotaped—but "ahem." The great tragedy of this was that anatomy was second semester, not first, and Carlisle didn't teach it.

Not to mention, he is also a morally-bound _1_ on that god-damned scale—which is why I have no idea why he's tapping me on the shoulder.

"Edward, are you okay?" he asks.

I frown at him because he obviously needs his PhD taken away if he's that thick.

Luckily for him, he recants the question. "Well, I see that you're not... but I thought you should note." He gives a quick jerk over his shoulder toward the pile that's amassed in front of my sign.

Someone has set down a small basket. It's filled with pieces of paper.

I lean forward and grab one. That's when I see the line-up that's surrounded me. Most of them are women and they're staring impatiently at Dr. Cullen.

I read the scrap.

_212-789-6789. Ingrid._

_P.S. "Hey babe, let's make a bunk bed you be on bottom I be on top."_

I look toward the back of the group to see a rather tall woman waggling her eyeballs at me. Then I see the Adam's apple.

That's funny. I smirk. Then, I pick up another slip. This one is on orange paper. It says,

_Tiffany - Green jacket front row._

She's cute. She has most excellent freckles and red hair, and if I were straight, I'd hit that. As it is, I hate pussy, so I turn to Carlisle. "I was very sad," I inform him.

He's giving me a knowing look, before frowning and saying, "Can I help you get back to campus?"

I sigh and think about it. Then someone catcalls. "Sing it or bring it!" It's a scary-looking cougar in a business suit.

"...or perhaps I can be your body guard." Carlisle chuckles lightly, but he's _right_. The crowd looks progressively more aggressive.

I pick up my keyboard in a hurry. I leave the basket and sign, despite the whined protests of a few and the booming yell of Ingrid.

I go back to face it with a tinge of studly pride.

-o-

Dr. Cullen drops me off at a coffee shop. He even buys me a mocha mint skinny latte, and tells me, "These things have a way of working out."

I don't believe him, but looking at his cheekbones is making me feel better. Even if Dr. Cullen doesn't want me, even if—J—_he—_doesn't—with me—there are other men. Other fish in the sea. I can make it.

These thoughts cause my eyes to swim with tears.

"I shouldn't have fallen in love with that straight fucker." I snot-sob into my elbow.

"Well," Dr. Cullen says uncomfortably, "you can't really choose with whom you fall in love."

I blow bubbles in my mint mocha through a coffee straw.

Even a hot biology professor cannot completely shed me of my misery.

-o-

I see Jasper later that day. He doesn't see me.

He's in the student union, sitting across from Alice. They're talking. Alice has her legs crossed on the bench, and she's toying with her chopsticks. It doesn't look heated, and I'm not close enough to make out the words on their lips.

I take this time to run back to the room. I grab my stuff, enough for a few days.

I plan on going somewhere better than a subway station this time.

-o-

Four days later, I'm out of boxer briefs, and when I try to buy them online—they are out of stock.

Also, I've been getting calls. From him. Calls that I don't answer, but also, he never leaves messages. It's just a little lullaby of _Poker Face_ ding-a-linging on my iPhone, and then... nothing.

I am staying with my Uncle Marcus. Normally, I don't like staying with Marcus. He's so _dour_, but when I'm bleak, his bleakness is neutral water. You can sink in it, and you can't see the black from the black. It's nice. But then he decides to give me advice.

"You should talk to whoever it is." He sets down his tea cup with the lightest of clinks.

"No."

"You don't answer your phone."

"So."

"Your presence, while not unwelcome, is uncheerful."

This catches my attention. Dear Uncle Marcus is giving me the same glum expression he always gives, but this time, he looks ever so...

"Am I annoying you?" I ask.

He sighs contemplatively and his eyes seem to roll along the curve of the ceiling. "Annoying, _no_, but I like you better when you have a bit more... pip, shall we say?"

I grimace at him. I most certainly do not have "pip." I contemplate dumping the entire contents of the sugar bowl into his cup. That'll give him "pip."

"Why don't you hang out with your friend, that Jasper? He always seems to pep you up when whatever hoodlum you've been dating turns out to be more boring than unsalted oatmeal."

I just stare at him.

Uncle Marcus, whatever you might say about him, is not imperceptive. There's a long moment in which he eyes me over his teacup, and then he says, "I see."

"Yes."

"You know, it's funny. I always thought he wanted to bang you."

This causes me to spit tea onto the ginger cakes.

Marcus frowns down at the mix of spittle and ginger. "Unsanitary, but not unexpected. I'll have Martha clean up. I might have to regale her with exaggerated details of your love life"—he sighs—"she looks prim, but she eats it all up—so I don't think she'll be too cross about the mess."

"He doesn't want me," I say firmly.

"As you say," he sighs.

It pisses me off. "You're the one who prodded."

"I did. I did. It's only that people look at each other differently when backs are turned."

"You think you see this, though I don't."

Marcus shrugs. "It's just that I have no one to look at. I haven't for a long time."

He's talking about Auntie DiDi. We all loved her, and she left us.

It's enough to shut me up. At least Jasper still breathes.

-o-

It's around two in the afternoon that I feel the presence of eyes on my back.

I spin around, my eyes are searching the street. I don't see anyone because there are a lot of people. I am at the flea market, and I've been sorting through old magazines from the sixties, browsing for inspiration for my semester project.

I slowly turn back around. I flip through the pages a few times more, and then I raise my eyes to a mirror that lines the back booth of the stall. When I don't see anyone approaching me for a full two minutes, I switch booths. This new booth has old jewelry, engraved doorknobs, and the broken pieces of antique dolls. I am crouching down to search through some prints when the booth owner calls to me.

"Hey, that your boyfriend?"

"I'm here alone," I say, not looking up.

"Then who's the blondie?"

I stand and turn.

"Where?" I ask, searching the crowd.

"He was over there, by the Chinese massage tent."

I almost walk over there. There's a part of me that wants to ask—but then I realize, it could be Riley. It could be anyone, and if it were Jasper wanting to see me, why would he hide?

"He's not my boyfriend," I tell the guy.

"Looked like he wanted to be."

I give him what might pass for a smile.

-o-

I sneak back into the apartment while he has a midterm.

What I see stops me short. There is a trail. Like Reese's Pieces laid out for ET. Except not chocolate peanut butter droplets in 1970's colors. They are pictures.

The first one is the one I took. It's from freshman year. It's a picture of him laughing.

The next one is of us in a mirror with Emmett and his sister Rosalie. It makes me smile.

I realize what this is. Jasper's telling me that I matter, that he wants our friendship back. It hurts, but it's sweet.

There are more pictures. Me when I was dating that idiot Laurent. Another from when I was actually happy with this guy named Garrett. It's that picture that stopped me short. It's not my picture or Jasper's. I don't know where the hell he got this picture. But in the picture, Garrett has his arms looped about my neck, his thumb pressed against my jaw. Jasper is next to some girl—I think her name was Jane. She's holding his hand. She's smiling at him, but he's not looking. His gaze is fixed on me and Garrett, and if looks could kill...

I try to remember that night. We were drinking. We had lots of friendly banter.

There are more pictures. Pictures of the two of us laughing together.

A picture of me coming out of the water when we all went to the Bahamas.

I am not conceited when I say that I looked good.

It's the final set of pictures that confuse me. There's a picture of Alice. She's not with Jasper. She has her hand inter-looped with Bella's. They're leaning in close. The angle could be wrong but they look like they're on a brink of a kiss... Then the other shots. My empty bed. A sad-faced Leah. A broken bottle. Finally, there's the last picture. It's face down, so I have to flip it.

It's a picture of me. I'm twisted in my sheets. It must be the early morning. There's nothing particularly seductive about the picture. It's just sweet.

I am still holding the picture when he comes in. I don't hear him, because I didn't close the door. I just followed the pictures, so that's why he's less than five feet away from me when I finally see him.

He stops when I look up.

"I thought you were in class," I say.

"I finished early. We had a test."

"Oh, really?"

Jasper's tongue rolls up to touch the front of his top teeth, and he gives me one slow nod. "Really."

"You left me pictures." I point. There's indisputable evidence.

"I broke up with Alice."

I don't allow myself to hear any implication in this statement. What I do is pick up the Alice-Bella picture. I hold it up with a question mark on my face.

"That's one of the reasons."

"What was the other reason?" I suck at control and ignoring implications. The last word shakes before shattering.

Jasper doesn't look at me as he walks toward me, but he takes three steps and he's there, sitting next to me on my bed, and he reaches down and his fingers push through the photos until they single one out. It's the picture of me, sleeping.

"That's an interesting picture," I say.

Jasper nods. "It's gorgeous."

I muster a smile. "Very nice."

But then his hand grabs my hand. The grip is tight, almost pinching as he says, "You. Not the picture. I meant you. You're gorgeous."

"I'm..."

I don't get to finish the sentence. There's a jerk of movement and the sudden wafting of photographs spinning through the air, and I feel lips, _Jasper's lips_, upon mine. The tongue that pushes into my mouth has no small amount of violence, and the hands that grab my face, my hair—they smash us together. Our teeth smack, and it hurts, but then it doesn't. It's tender and anxious and so familiar that it's awkward.

"I'm sorry," Jasper whisper between kisses, "I'm sorry I had to say no."

"It's"—_kiss_—"okay"—_kiss_—"it's okay." Because really, Jasper's perfect body is on top of me—on his own volition—there's no Alice, and he's kissing me. Everything is very okay.

But then he does something that's not okay. He pulls back. He pulls back so that his bruised lips come into full view, and seem galaxies away. I try to lean up to kiss them, but he stops me. "I missed you. God, you shithead, don't ever leave me like that again."

"I was at Marcus's."

"I know."

This smells of a meddling uncle. "While I was out of class?" I will have the truth.

"He told me you'd need a grand gesture."

This garners a giggle—but _not_ because it's true. It's just funny. _Possibly _true.

"So the pictures, they were the grand gesture?"

Jasper, coy little fucker that he is, smiles at me, and he lifts up. He scoots his knees up on either side so that he's sitting over my thighs. He's propped back so that he has to push his hair out of his eyes, but then his hands are on my sides. Double thumbs flip up the bottom of my shirt. They slide in from right and left until they close in on the spot just beneath my belly button. He looks so carefree and lazy that I almost miss his game.

Except that one finger slides up my happy trail, and the other pushes out my button. I'm squirming because my tummy is ticklish, but then I'm gasping, because a cold hand is sliding down, pushing out the zipper as it moves, and then he's holding me.

"No boxers?"

It takes me a minute. I unclench my teeth so I can say, "Why do you think I came back? I ran out of underwear."

I expect him to laugh, but instead he's just watching me, and his hand has started a slow descent and rise on my cock. It's enough to make me pull him down and make him kiss me.

He allows one kiss, and then he says, "I have a grand gesture," which means he slides off the bed onto his knees, and says, "come here."

I won't say I scramble, because _I _do not scramble, but I do move in a _prompt _fashion. I scoot to the edge, and I can tell he's nervous but determined, so when he grabs the sides of my jeans and pulls, I lift up, which means my cock springs free, and he grabs it, just grips it from top to bottom with wide spread fingers, and then his tongue flicks out with a delectable curly-cue, and this is the start of Jasper-my-Jasper, nobody-but-my-perfect-Jasper giving me a blow job.

I am aware that he's probably never done this before, so I am really trying to keep my hips still, to not try and take control of his mouth—because he feels amazing, and he's beautiful, and his eyes are focused away, because he's probably shy and embarrassed slightly with the newness.

I stop him for just a second. I grab him. I look at him. I kiss his forehead.

"It's okay—right? I wasn't doing it wrong." He doesn't understand.

"It's perfect. You're perfect, but you can look at me."

He stares at me for a long second.

"Okay."

And then he pulls me in to his mouth again with a long, dirty suck.

This time he doesn't look away. He just stares straight at me. He smacks his lips and swirls his tongue—and holy mother of fucking hell, he's beautiful.

He's going slowly, but I'm painfully close. He takes one particularly tight draw on me, and my fingers are digging channels in the mattress. I let out some small sound, like a yip, that makes him go faster.

I'm seeing the room start to spin when I realize that he's still looking at me. We're locked in a gaze, and my teeth are gritted and he's just working me over and over.

My stomach muscles tighten, and I whisper his name, and he pulls back as the tension shoots down.

Jasper's still holding me as I tense in his hand and then spill all over the floor. He watches it all with flicks of a smile between my cock and me.

Then it's over. I'm spent, and I have Jasper at my feet.

I pull my jeans off. I chuck them toward the hamper and I slide back on my bed and pat a spot. He slides in next to me, and I kiss him. I kiss his bright red lips. I'm very proud of those lips.

A moment passes. A moment that's short enough for him to curl against me and press his nose against my nose while a hand slides to grip my ass.

I'm so happy it hurts.

"So you like me," I say, looking down before looking up.

I get an eye roll.

"But you like girls more," I insist.

"How would you know that?"

"That—" _Alice's _"—scale. The Kinsey scale."

"Edward," Jasper groans, "forget about the scale."

I pout. The scale is how I knew about Jasper.

Jasper grips the side of my face. "It's pretty fucking simple. I like you. I want you. Nobody else."

"Not even Alice." I watch his reaction.

"You," he whispers.

This is how I end up kissing him into oblivion and stripping off the rest of his clothes. This is how new rules are enacted in our apartment (e.g., Jasper is only allowed to wear his orange bandanna to bed. Edward must not take naked pictures of Jasper without his permission, no matter the quality of the morning light.) This is how I live in love. This is how I end with a perfect 10.


End file.
